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frvach'i  International  Copyright*!  fin  England,  her  Colonies,  and 
th«  United  States)  Edition  of  the  Work*  of  th«  Beat  Atthora 
••••••••••••••••••••••••ft)  ••••••••••••••0 


No.  267- 


Those  Husbands  of  Ours 


JESSIE  A.  tBLLEY 


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gMa  «f  tfO«  pter  ««  NMmi  by 


the  publt«h«r.  and  **rmlMlOB  f«r  «n«h  p»rform«ne»»  matt  b*  «b- 
Uin«d  b*f or*  p«rf •nm«MC«*  «r«  given.  Thi«  nolle*  does  net  apply 
te  •meteurs,  wh«  Kay  perftrm  the  pity  wltheut  permlB»lon.  All 
uneuthoriMd  prefeselMwI  pcod»«tUn«  will  be  pr«aeoute4  to  t>« 
foil  extMt  «l  tb*  law. 


YORK 
SAMUEL  FRENCH 


If  WIST  49TH  Siun 


LONDON 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  LTD. 

26  SOUTHAMPTON  STUB* 

STRAND 


CALIFORNIA 

_.«.*•% 

SANfll 


CONSOLATION 


act.    By    Charles    George.    5    females. 
EenorTModern  costumes.  30  minutes. 

This  little  play,  built  for  laughing  purposes  only,  has  to  do 
with  the  adventures  of  Mrs.  Wilson  Andrews  in  a  hospital. 
She  is  on  the  verge  of  a  nervous  breakdown  and  her  physi 
cian  orders  her  to  a  hospital  for  complete  rest,  quiet  and 
proper  diet.  She  gets  none  of  these  things.  The  last  straw 
is  reached  when  she  is  visited  by  Mrs.  Frisby,  who  comes  to 
offer  consolation  in  the  form  of  _  conversation  composed 
chiefly  of  who  has  died  of  ailments  similar  to  Mrs.  Andrews'. 
Mrs.  Andrews  arises  from  her  bed  and  wrapping  the  bed 
clothes  around  her,  makes  a  dash  for  a  taxi  across  the 
street  and  for  freedom. 

(Budget  Play.)  Price,  50  cents. 


THE  TALE  OF  A  SHIRT 

Comedy.  I  act.  By  Leon  Edward  Joseph.  8  females. 
Interior.  Modern  costumes.  30  minutes. 

In  a  hand  laundry  the  employees  discuss  the  lowdown  on 
the  townspeople  as  revealed  by  the  various  garments  in  the 
wash.  A  new  ironer  is  tried.  She  is  the  daughter  of  the 
family  who  formerly  owned  the  old  mansion  which  is  now 
used  by  the  laundry.  Her  love  story  is  developed  through  a 
man's  shirt,  even  though  it  gets  scorched,  and  it  comes  to  a 
happy  ending  though  the  man  is  never  seen. 

(Budget  Play.)  Price,  50  cents. 


JUST  WOMEN 

Comedy.  I  act.  By  Colin  Clements.  7  females. 
Interior.  This  play  can  be  done  in  either  mid- Victorian 
or  modern  costumes.  30  minutes. 

From  the  thousands  of  plays  submitted  to  him  every  year, 
Prof.    George   P.    Baker    selected   this    as    one   of   the  best 
comedies  sent  to  him  by  a  candidate  for  his  class,  to  which 
only  twelve  members  are  admitted  each  year- 
Price,  50  cents.   (No  Royalty.) 


Those  Husbands  of  Our§ 


in  *ite  »ct 


BT 


/ESSIE  A.  KELLE1 


,  1913,  BY  SAMUIL 


FRENCH 

PUBUBHBE 

25  WEST  45TH  STUET 


LONDOW 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  In 
26  SOUTHAMPTON 
STRAND 


THOSE  HUSBANDS  OP  OURS. 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS. 


.Indignant  Wives. 


MRS.  JONES, 
MRS.  SMITH, 
MRS.  BROWN, 
MRS.  SHAW, 
MRS.  WHITE, 
MRS.  GREEN, 
MRS.  BLACK  (who  has  to  laugh.) 

COSTUMES.— Modem. 

STAGE. 

A  curtain  is  not  necessary  but  may  be  used  if 
desired.  The  stage  should  be  arranged  to  repre 
sent  a  living  room  in  the  utmost  disorder  possible — 
lace  curtains  tied  in  knots,  clothing  of  all  descrip 
tions  on  floor,  chandelier  and  chairs — matches, 
cards,  pipes,  papers,  and  dirty  dishes  everywhere — 
the  more  littered  and  ridiculous  the  better. 

NOTES. — Give  jokes  and  stories  very  slowly  thus 
allowing  the  audience  time  to  see  the  point.  Prac 
tise  the  story  telling  thoroughly — a  story  is  made 
or  spoiled  in  the  telling — more  remarks  and  ques 
tions  should  be  interpolated  during  the  story  tell 
ing.  Use  local  names  everywhere.  There  is  abund 
ant  opportunity  for  this  and  nothing  takes  so  w«D 
as  local  hits.  Act  out  everything  possible. 


Those  Husbands  of  Ours. 


(Enter  MRS.  JONES  with  suitcase  and  umbrella. 
She  stands  sideways  just  inside  doorway,  look" 
ing  out  through  door,  supposedly  at  kitchen.) 

MRS.  JONES.  Well,  I  never!  Did  you  ever  see 
such  a  looking  kitchen  in  all  your  born  days?  I 
declare,  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it  possible  that 
one  lone  man  could  have  so  thoroughly  upset  things 
in  one  short  week.  Catch  me  ever  leaving  him  to 
keep  house  alone  again!  He  thought  I  was  get 
ting  tired  and  needed  a  rest  so  he  talked  with  Smith 
and  Brown  and  Shaw  and  White  and  Green  and 
Black  and  they  all  decided  their  wives  needed  a 
little  vacation  so  they  induced  us  to  go  off  together 
for  a  week — said  they'd  get  along  "  fine  and  dandy." 
(disgustedly)  Fine  and  dandy,  indeed!  (drops 
suitcase  and  umbrella,  looks  around  living  room, 
throws  out  hands)  Well,  if  this  is  what  they  call 
fine  and  dandy,  what  on  earth  would  it  be  if  it 
wasn't  fine  and  dandy?  (looks  towards  kitchen 
again)  Think  I'll  need  a  year's  vacation  after  I  get 
that  kitchen  in  shape.  Isn't  that  sink  a  sight! 
Chock  full  of  dirty  dishes !  I  didn't  know  I  had  so 
many  dishes  in  the  house.  And  more  in  this  room! 
(picks  up  chafing  dish  from  table)  I  declare  if  he 
hasn't  fried  beefsteak  in  my  chafing  dish  and  com 
pletely  ruined  it.  Oh,  dear  me!  And  here's  my 
best  cut  glass  dish  full  of  garbage,  (smells)  Phew! 
Such  a  looking  place  1  Slept  on  the  couch — too 

8 


4          THOSE  HUSBANDS  OF  OURS. 

lazy  to  go  up  stairs.  I  don't  believe  the  rest  of  the 
women  will  find  such  looking  houses,  (sinks  down 
in  chair  with  long  drawn  sigh  and  begins  taking  off 
wraps)  Well,  I  might  as  well  take  off  my  things, 
get  some  water  on  heating  and  go  at  it  but  it's  a 
worse  task  than  Hercules  had  cleaning  out  the  Au 
gean  stables. 

(Knock  at  door,  MRS.  SMITH  with  shawl  over  head 
enters  without  waiting  to  be  admitted — stops 
just  inside  door,  holding  up  hands  in  surprise.) 

MRS.  SMITH.  I'll  be  jiggered,  I  didn't  believe 
a  worse  looking  house  than  that  husband  of  mine 
had  left  could  be  found  in  all  Christendom  but  I 
do  believe  this  is  a  mighty  close  second. 

MRS.  JONES.  Did  you  see  that  sink  full  of  dishes 
in  the  kitchen?  You  don't  mean  to  say  yours  is  as 
bad  as  that? 

MRS.  SMITH,  (gesticulating)  Yes,  sink  full  of 
them — then  an  overflow  on  chairs,  floor  and  table — 
ashes  a  foot  thick  all  around  the  kitchen  stove, 
grease  spots  everywhere — likewise  cat-hairs,  my 
very  best  china  dish  broken  in  a  hundred  pieces 
and 

{Knock — MRS.  JONES  goes  to  door.  MRS.  BROWN 
•with  tablecloth  under  her  arm  rushes  excitedly 
past  her  and  shakes  out  tablecloth  which  if 
covered  with  great  black  blotches.) 

MRS.  BROWN,  (angrily)  Just  look  at  that,  will 
you?  My  very,  very  best  embroidered  tablecloth 
that  I  spent  hours  and  hours  and  hours  embroider 
ing  and  that  husband  of  mine  has  used  it  for  a  dish 
towel — not  only  for  the  china  but  for  pots,  pans 
and  kettles.  Isn't  that  enough  to  make  a  saint 
mad.  (sarcastically)  That's  what  comes  when 
your  husband  insists  that  you  need  a  little  vacation. 


THOSE  HUSBANDS  OP  OTOS.  1 

Black  as  my  shoe  I  I  can  never  get  it  white  again 
in  this  world. 

MRS.  SMITH.  Isn't  it  an  awful  shame?  I  de 
clare  I'm  almost  afraid  to  look  around  my  house 
much. 

MRS.  JONES.  Too  bad!  {picks  up  from  the  floor 
a  very  black  looking  cloth)  Well,  here's  one  of  my 
embroidered  napkins  that  has  evidently  been  used 
to  wipe  the  stove  although  I  see  no  sign  of  the  stove 
ever  having  been  wiped. 

{Knock  at  door.) 
MRS.  JONES.    Come  in. 

(Enter  MRS.  SHAW.) 

MRS.  SHAW.    What  a  looking  place! 

MRS.  JONES.  I  suppose  your  husband  has  kept 
yours  looking  as  neat  as  wax. 

MRS.  SHAW.  To  tell  you  the  truth  I  haven't  got 
my  courage  up  enough  to  go  out  in  the  kitchen  yet 
but  of  all  the  looking  sitting  rooms  you  ever  saw 
in  your  life  mine  is  the  "  beatingest."  (gesticulates) 
Lace  curtains  tied  up  in  knots  like  a  horse's  tail, 
ceiling  smoked  blacker  than  the  ace  of  spades  and 
I  should  think  a  cyclone  had  struck  the  furniture. 
Aren't  you  glad  we  have  such  thoughtful  husbands 
to  send  us  away  for  a  week  to  rest?  (nods  and  sar 
castic  remarks}  Thought  I'd  just  run  in  to  see  how 
yours  looked.  Well,  misery  likes  company. 


(Knock  —  MRS.  WHITE  enters  with  water  ^ 
parently  full  of  tobacco  ashes.  Acts  as  if  it 
were  very  heavy  —  goes  to  centre  of  stage  and 
tuts  it  down  —  places  hands  on  hips  and  throws 
oack  head.) 

MRS,  WHITE.     There,  look  at  that,  will  you? 


•  THOSE  HUSBANDS  OF  OUBS. 

Thafs  what  I  found  in  the  middle  of  my  mahogany 
parlor  table  and  I  believe  there's  five  pails  full  on 
the  floor  and  bushels  of  burnt  matches.  I  should 
think  that  husband  of  mine  had  invited  the  whole 
town  in  while  I  was  gone  and  they'd  smoked  ince»- 
santly  day  and  night 
(Exclamations  of  "  Monsters! "  "  Beasts t "  etc.) 

MRS.  WHITE,  (looking  around  room)  I  don*li 
believe  your  husband  is  a  model  of  neatness  either, 
Mrs.  Jones. 

MRS.  JONES,     (sarcastically)     Hardly. 

MRS.  WHITE.  In  what  condition  did  you  find 
your  house,  Mrs.  Smith? 

MRS.  SMITH.    Words  cannot  describe  it 

MRS,  WHITE.     And  yours,  Mrs.  Brown? 

MRS.  BROWN.    Ditto,  in  italics, 

(MRS.  GREEN  rushes  in  with  sheets  under  arm— 
spreads  them  out  as  others  gather  around  her.) 

MRS.  JONES.     More  trouble. 

MRS.  GREEN.  I  made  up  my  five  beds  all  clean 
before  I  left  home  and  this  is  a  sample  of  the  con 
dition  of  the  sheets.  Every  bed  been  slept  in  (stop 
ping  between  each  word)  by — men — with — boots 
—on — and — muddy — boots — at — that,  and  besides 
they've  evidently  polished  their  boots  with  the 
blankets,  used  my  dresser  covers  for  towels  and  my 
best  down  puff  for  a  bath  mat. 

MRS.  JONES.  I  really  didn't  realize  we  had  such 
a  depraved  lot  of  husbands. 

MRS.  WHITE.     They're  perfect  barbarians. 

MRS.  SHAW.  Suppose  they  think  they  were  lead 
ing  the  simple  life.  My  husband  is  always  prating 
about  the  simple  life  to  me. 

MRS.  SMITH.  My  husband  had  a  spell  of  that 
but  I  cured  him  of  it  mighty  quick. 

MRS.  SHAW.    I'd  like  to  know  how  you  did  it 


THOSE  HUSBANDS  OF  OUES.  7 

I  get  simple  life  for  breakfast,  dinner  and  supper. 
He  says  there  is  no  need  of  this  cry  of  the  high 
cost  of  living — it's  the  cost  of  high  living  and  if  we'd 
only  drop  our  extravagant  ways  and  do  as  our 
grandfathers  and  grandmothers  did  this  howl  of  the 
High  cost  of  living  would  very  soon  die  out. 

MRS.  JONES.    Yes,  that's  just  what  I  hear. 

MRS.  BROWN.    Just  what  my  husband  says! 

MRS.  WHITE.     Same  old  story  at  my  house. 

MRS.  GREEN.    How  did  you  stop  it  Mrs.  Smith? 

MRS.  SMITH.  Let's  sit  down  and  I'll  tell  you. 
(all  sit)  Well,  I  stood  it  just  about  as  long  as  I 
could,  knowing  he  was  smoking  twenty-five  cent 
cigars,  joining  expensive  clubs,  hiring  taxicabs,  etc., 
so  one  morning  after  he  had  had  an  unusually  sev 
ere  attack  of  simple  life,  economy  and  so  forth,  I 
decided  I'd  settle  the  simple  life  question  for  him 
once  and  forever.  As  soon  as  he  got  away  to  the 
office  I  called  in  a  furniture  mover,  we  took  all  the 
comfortable,  chairs,  couch,  tables,  etc.,  down  in  the 
basement,  took  up  all  the  rugs,  left  the  floors  all 
bare,  took  down  all  the  pictures,  put  away  all  the 
china,  cut  glass  and  silver,  then  we  got  down  a  few 
rickety,  uncomfortable  chairs  that  had  been  dis 
carded  years  ago,  set  up  an  old  bedstead  with  a 
humpy  straw  tick,  put  a  couple  of  cracked  yellow 
bowls  and  some  cheap  spoons  on  the  dining  room 
table,  got  an  old  clay  pipe  and  some  of  the  cheapest 
tobacco  I  could  find,  shut  off  the  gas  and  waited  for 
the  simple  life  man. 

(Laughter,  chorus,  "  Good  for  you,"  "  Bright  idea" 
"  Guess  that  fixed  him,"  etc.) 

MRS.  BROWN.  It  must  have  been  a  forsaken- 
looking  house.  What  did  he  say  when  he  got  home  ? 

MRS.  SMITH,  (laughing  heartily)  Oh,  it  was 
too  funny  for  anything.  He  came  in  the  door, 


8  THOSE  HUSBANDS  OP  OUES. 

stopped,  looked  around,  then  put  his  hand  to  hii 
head  as  if  he  couldn't  believe  his  eyes. 

MRS.  SHAW.  Perhaps  he  thought  he'd  been  at 
the  club  too  long. 

MRS.  SMITH.  Then  the  storm  broke.  "What 
does  this  mean?"  he  roared.  "The  simple  life," 
I  said  sweetly,  "  we've  begun  to  live  it,  just  like  our 
grandparents, — bare  floors,  straight  chairs,  no  use 
less  bric-a-brac  that  needs  a  maid  to  take  care  of 
(that  was  one  of  his  stock  quotations)  and  I  can 
do  all  my  own  cooking  since  we  have  returned  to 
the  primitive  life.  We  are  going  to  have  cold 
johnny  cake  and  milk  for  supper "  and  I  pointed 
to  the  two  desreputable  yellow  bowls  on  the  table. 
"  No  more  extravagance  in  this  household."  I 
added. 

MRS.  JONES.  Turned  the  tables  on  him  good, 
didn't  you? 

MRS.  BROWN.    Wasn't  he  awful  mad? 

MRS.  SMITH.  He  gave  a  roar  like  a  caged  lion 
and  started  to  light  the  gas  but  it  was  shut  off.  "  No 
more  gas,"  says  I  blandly,  "  our  grandparents  got 
along  nicely  with  candles/'  and  I  lighted  one  little 
flickering  candle.  "  Woman,"  he  howled,  "  what 
have  you  done  with  the  furniture?  "  "  I've  put  it  in 
the  basement  until  we  can  sell  it  ?  "  but  before  I  had 
the  sentence  finished  he  was  half  way  down  the 
street  and  in  a  few  minutes  came  back  with  two 
men  who  immediately  got  to  work  putting  back 
rugs,  furniture,  pictures,  etc.,  and  I've  never  heard 
simple  life  mentioned  from  that  day  to  this. 

MRS.  SHAW.    I'll  try  it  to-morrow. 

(Chorus,  so  will  I,  yes,  indeed,  etc.) 

MRS.  JONES,  (rising  and  going  over  to  window, 
examines  draperies)  My  lace  curtains  are  ruined — 
ti«d  up  in  hard  knots — (trigs  to  untie  them — others 


THOSE  HUSBANDS  OF  OUES.  0 

Walk    around,    examining    things,    pick    up    burnt 
matches,  straighten  chairs,  cushions,  etc.) 

MRS.  WHITE,  (taking  pail  of  ashes  from  tablt) 
Here's  a  pail  of  ashes  to  match  mine  and  pipes— 
pipes — pipes — (holds  up  pipe  after  pipe) 

MRS.  SMITH.     Look  at  these  stacks  of  cards! 

MRS.  BROWN,  (to  MRS.  JONES)  Does  your  hus 
band  play  poker? 

MRS.  JONES.  No-o — I  don't  think  so  but  I  must 
say  the  sick  friends  he  visits  evenings  borrow  a 
good  deal  of  his  money. 

MRS.  WHITE.  He's  probably  deceiving  you  about 
the  sick  friends  he  visits.  My  husband  said  to  me 
the  other  day  "  Do  you  think  I  could  deceive  my 
own  little  wife?"  "No,"  says  I,  "I  know  you 
could  not  but  I  believe  you  are  silly  enough  to  try." 

MRS.  GREEN.     My  husband  doesn't  like  dancing. 

MRS.  JONES.  What  objection  has  he  to  danc 
ing? 

MRS.  GREEN.  He  says  it's  merely  hugging  set 
to  music. 

MRS.  SHAW.  Which  does  he  object  to,  the  hug 
ging  or  the  music? 

MRS.  GREEN.     Oh,  the  music,  of  course. 

MRS.  JONES,  (holding  up  cushions)  Look  at 
my  brand  new  cushions! 

MRS.  BROWN,  (picking  up  boots)  Evidently 
wore  rubber  boots  to  bed. 

MRS.  GREEN,  (holding  up  different  articles) 
Shirts,  coats,  papers  on  every  chair! 

MRS.  JONES.  He  will  persist  in  using  this  room 
for  a  bedroom  if  I'm  away,  (shakes  out  pajamat 
and  folds  them  up.) 

MRS.  BROWN.    "  Shoes  are  on  the  chiffonier, 
Trousers  on  the  floor, 
Shirts  upon  the  chandelier, 
Wife's  been  to  the  shore." 

MRS.  GREEN,  (going  over  to  couch)  What  hafl 
he  been  doing  with  the  bedclothes! 


10          THOSE  HUSBANDS  OF  OUES. 

MRS.  SMITH.  Guess  all  the  clothes  he  owns  are 
on  the  floor. 

(MRS.  JONES  looks  under  couch.) 

MRS.  WHITE.  What  are  you  looking  under  the 
couch  for? 

MRS.  JONES.  Well,  since  that  husband  of  mine 
has  taken  to  automobiling  I  find  that  he  often 
crawls  under  the  bed  and  I  didn't  know  but  he 
might  be  there  now. 

MRS.  BROWN.  Force  of  habit,  eh?  Some  folks 
would  sell  their  homes  for  an  auto. 

MRS.  JONES.  My  husband  said  we  wouldn't  need 
a  home  after  we  got  the  auto  and  (looking  around 
ruefully  and  sighing)  he  certainly  seems  to  have 
tried  his  best  to  destroy  it. 

MRS.  SHAW.  It  took  Charlie  Young  a  year  to 
make  up  his  mind  what  kind  of  an  auto  to  buy  and 
I  understand  he  was  only  two  weeks  picking  out 
his  wife. 

MRS.  GREEN.  Probably  thought  he  could  dispost 
of  his  wife  easier  than  he  could  of  his  auto. 

MRS.  SMITH.  Ever  hear  about  George  Kendall 
the  first  time  he  saw  a  big  touring  car  ?  (chorus — 
No,  tell  us— What  about  it?  etc.} 

MRS.  SMITH.  A  big  touring  car  filled  with  swell 
looking  men  whizzed  past  him  leaving  a  trail  of 
bluish  smoke  and  the  usual  smell.  "  Gee,"  says  he, 
"  them  may  be  swell  city  fellers  but  they  certainly 
was  smoking  some  durned  awful  smelling  cigars." 
(laughter) 

MRS.  WHITE.  You  know  when  Albert  Black 
was  looking  at  automobiles  he  said  he  didn't  know 
whether  to  buy  a  gasoline  or  limousine — asked  the 
man  which  he  thought  smelled  worse. 

MRS.  JONES,  (shaking  out  bedclothes)  I  don't 
aee  how  he  ever  got  these  clothes  in  such  a  mess. 

MRS.  BROWN,  (going  over  to  couch)    Think  your 


THOSE  HUSBANDS  OF  OURS.  11 

husband  must  be  rather  restless.  Isn't  he  a  sound 
sleeper  ? 

MRS.  JONES.  Sound?  I  should  say  so!  The 
sound  he  makes  can  be  heard  half  a  mile. 

MRS.  GREEN.  Snores,  does  he,  eh?  That  makes 
me  think  of  the  time  Mr.  Small  went  to  Chicago. 
He  had  got  settled  in  his  berth  sound  asleep  and 
was  snoring  away  at  an  awful  rate  when  the  man  in 
the  upper  berth  leaned  over  the  edge  and  yelled  at 
him,  "  Hi,  you,  down  there  are  you  rich  ? "  "  Hey, 
what  do  you  want?"  sleepily  answered  Mr.  Small, 
after  several  repetitions  of  the  question.  I  say, 
"  are  you  rich  ?  "  "  What  do  you  mean  by  waking 
me  up  to  ask  me  such  a  question  as  that  ?  "  "I 
want  to  know,  that's  why."  "  Well  it's  none  of  your 
business,"  says  Mr.  Small,  "  but  to  gratify  your 
curiosity  I'll  tell  you  I  ant  rich."  "  Well,  then,  why 
in  thunder  don't  you  charter  a  whole  train  to  do 
your  snoring  in?"  (laughter  and  remarks) 

MRS.  BROWN.  My  husband  sleeps  so  sound  you 
can  hardly  wake  him.  The  other  night  some  one 
was  yelling  fire  at  the  top  of  his  voice  and  I  finally 
got  him  partly  awake  and  told  him  to  slip  on  his 
trousers  and  go  down  and  see  where  the  fire  was. 
He  was  still  half  asleep,  got  his  trousers  on  hind 
side  before,  started  for  the  stairs  and  fell  down  the 
whole  flight.  I  rushed  after  him  and  said,  "Are 
you  hurt  ?  "  "  No,"  says  he,  looking  at  his  trousers, 
"  but  I  must  have  got  an  awful  twist."  (laughter 
and  remarks) 

MRS.  JONES.  I  get  madder  and  madder  the  more 
I  look  at  these  rooms.  I'm  going  out  in  the  sitting 
room  and  telephone  to  that  husband  of  mine.  He's 
probably  at  the  club. 

MRS.  SMITH.  Going  to  call  him  up  to  call  him 
down,  eh? 

MRS.  JONES.  Yes,  I  am.  (walks  over  to  tele- 
phone,  rings  and  gives  number)  Holloa,  Com 
mercial  Club?  (pause)  I  want  to  speak  to  my 


IS          THOSE  HUSBANDS  OF  OTTB8. 

husband,  (pause)  How  do  you  know?  I  haven't 
told  you  who  I  am  yet?  (pause,  then  slams  up 
receiver) 

(Chorus— W hat  is  it?    What  is  the  matter?  etc.) 

MRS.  JONES,  (indignantly)  The  impudent  thing! 
Said  my  husband  wasn't  there  before  I  told  him  who 
I  was  and  when  I  said  so  he  said  it  was  quite 
unnecessary  to  know  who  I  was — nobody's  husband 
was  ever  by  any  chance  there. 

MRS.  WHITE.  Orders  from  those  husbands  of 
ours. 

MRS.  GREEN.  Oh,  these  monsters  of  men !  Why 
did  we  ever  marry  them,  (sinks  down  in  chair,  tht 
rest  also  sit) 

MRS.  JONES.  Why  did  we  marry  them?  I  sup 
pose  for  the  same  reason  lots  of  women  buy  dogs 
and  parrots — they  see  other  women  have  them  and 
don't  realize  what  a  trial  they  are. 

MRS.  SMITH.  Men  are  like  jobs — when  you 
need  them  and  want  them  they're  not  there.  When 
you  don't  need  them  and  don't  want  them  they're 
thicker'n  flies  in  fly  time. 

MRS.  BROWN.  If  a  man  hasn't  anything  he's 
mighty  willing  to  promise  to  give  you  half  of  it 
but  if  he  has  anything  it's  mighty  hard  to  get  a 
nickel  without  false  pretences. 

MRS.  SHAW.  Does  your  husband  give  you  an 
allowance  ? 

MRS.  BROWN.  He  did  one  month  but  he  was  so 
mad  because  I  spent  it  before  he  could  borrow  it 
back  that  he  never  would  again.  Men  are  like  con 
tracts — if  you  once  sign  away  your  rights  you  nevef 
get  them  back. 

MRS.  WHITE.  That  husband  of  mine  told  me  be 
fore  I  married  him  that  if  I  would  only  be  his  wife 
I'd  be  treated  like  an  angel. 

Mu.  GREEN.     Well,  you  have,  haven't  you? 


THOSE  HUSBANDS  OF  OURS.          IS 

Nothing  to  eat  and  less  to  wear.  That's  like  an 
angel. 

MRS.  JONES.  Well,  scientists  say  man  is  seventy- 
five  percent  water  so  I  suppose  we  shouldn't  take 
any  stock  in  him.  My  husband  promised  if  I'd 
marry  him  that  I  could  look  for  an  easy  life  and 
plenty  of  money.  He  was  right — I  am  still  looking 
and  presume  I  shall  keep  on  looking  the  rest  of  my 
life. 

MRS.  GREEN.  Talk  about  promises,  being  treated 
like  angels  and  all  the  rest.  Do  you  know  that  a 
little  while  ago  I  burned  all  the  letters  my  husband 
wrote  me  before  we  were  married  ? 

MRS.  WHITE.    Haven't  you  any  sentiment? 

MRS.  GREEN.  I  did  it  in  self  defence.  If  any 
one  got  hold  of  those  letters  after  his  death  they'd 
dispute  his  will  on  the  ground  of  insanity.  He's 
willed  everything  to  me  and  I'm  not  going  to  take 
any  chances. 

MRS.  WHITE.  I  think  I'll  do  the  same  with 
mine,  it's  too  much  risk  to  keep  them. 

MRS.  SMITH.  Maud  Phillips  was  wise  that  she 
didn't  marry  that  Haskell  fellow. 

MRS.  BROWN.  What  was  the  trouble?  Wasn't 
her  father  on  his  side? 

MRS.  SMITH.  No,  he  was  in  back  of  him — with 
number  elevens  on. 

MRS.  SHAW.  They  say  they'd  die  for  you  and 
can't  even  remember  to  bring  home  a  pound  of 
butter. 

MRS.  WHITE.  Probably  it's  so  greasy  it  slips 
their  minds.  I  do  hate  this  everlasting  finding  fault 
with  the  food.  Oh,  it  used  to  be,  "We'll  live  on 
bread  and  kisses,"  now  when  I  put  a  nice  angel  cake 
on  the  table  he  snarls,  "  You  call  that  thing  angel 
food?" 

MRS.  GREEN.  Tell  him  if  that  doesn't  suit  him 
you  can  give  him  some  devilled  crabs — be  more  in 
keeping  with  his  disposition.  Do  you  know  I 
think  a  man  is  a  good  deal  like  a  camel? 


14          THOSE  HUSBANDS  OF  OTTRS. 

MRS.  JONES.    Why? 

MRS.  SMITH.  I  don't  see  why  a  man  is  like  a 
camel. 

MRS.  GREEN.  Because  he's  always  got  his  back 
up. 

MRS.  JONES.  I  think  married  men  are  a  good 
deal  like  lamps. 

MRS.  SHAW.     Married  men  like  lamps? 

MRS.  JONES.    Yes,  married  men  like  lamps. 

MRS.  WHITE.    Why? 

MRS.  JONES.  They  go  out  sometimes  nights 
when  they  shouldn't. 

MRS.  BROWN.  Do  you  know  my  dog  did  the 
cutest  thing  the  other  day.  My  husband  was  finding 
fault  with  everything  and  everybody. 

MRS.  SHAW.    As  usual. 

MRS.  BROWN.  Yes,  as  usual  and  that  dog  went 
and  got  his  muzzle  and  laid  it  right  down  at  my 
husband's  feet. 

MRS.  SHAW.  Pretty  good  hint  for  him  to  shut 
up.  They  find  fault  with  everything  when  they  feel 
like  it  and  then  expect  you  to  make  up  any  time  they 
say  the  word.  My  husband  went  off  Grosser  than 
a  bear  the  other  morning  and  came  home  at  night 
with  a  package  which  he  tried  very  hard  to  make 
me  ask  about.  I  wouldn't  let  on  I  noticed  it  so 
finally  he  said,  "  Aren't  you  curious  to  know  what 
is  in  this  package  ? "  "  Not  very,"  says  I  coolly. 
"  Well,  it's  something  for  the  one  I  love  best  in  the 
world."  "Oh,  is  that  so?"  says  I,  "then  it  must 
be  those  suspenders  you  said  you  needed." 

MRS.  GREEN.  I  read  a  pretty  good  piece  on 
matrimony  the  other  day.  I  think  I  have  it  in  my 
pocket  now. 

(Chorus.  Read  it.  Oh,  lefs  hear  it,  etc.  MRS. 
GREEN  reads  AUNT  HETTY  on  Matrimony  to  bt 
found  in  Dick's  Dutch,  French  and  Yankee 
Dialect  Recitations.} 


THOSE  HUSBANDS  OF  OTTBS.          16 

MRS.  JONES.  Idiots!  Yes  and  there's  Mary 
Cameron  been  married  six  times. 

MRS.  GREEN.  Well,  she  married  three  pairs  of 
lemons  trying  to  get  a  peach. 

MRS.  WHITE.  Still  Mr.  Rapp  swells  up  with 
pride  (rises  and  imitates)  when  making  his  political 
speeches  and  says  he  doesn't  hesitate  to  admit  that 
whatever  he  is  to-day  is  due  to  the  influence  of  his 
wife. 

MRS.  GREEN.  That's  right,  always  blame  the 
woman,  (laughter) 

MRS.  JONES.  That  man  is  too  lazy  and  too  mean 
to  live.  When  some  one  asked  him  why  he  didn't 
join  the  business  men's  gymnasium  class  at  the 
V.  M.  C.  A.  he  said  he  didn't  need  any  calisthenics — 
he  got  all  the  exercise  he  needed  building  the  fire 
every  morning. 

MRS.  SMITH.  What  kind  of  a  fire — wood  or 
^oal?  Lots  of  ashes,  I  suppose. 

MRS.  JONES.  No,  they  use  a  gas  stove  and  he 
has  to  light  a  match. 

MRS.  BROWN.  Have  you  noticed  that  his  little 
boy  is  wearing  glasses  ?  Poor  little  chap ! 

MRS.  SHAW.  What  a  pity!  Are  his  eyes  in 
poor  condition? 

MRS.  BROWN.  No,  the  boy  doesn't  need  glasses 
at  all  but  it's  a  pair  his  grandfather  used  before  he 
died  and  that  old  curmudgeon  makes  the  boy  wear 
them — says  it's  a  shame  to  waste  them,  (groans, 
shakes  of  head,  etc.) 

MRS.  SMITH.  Well,  I  call  that  the  limit  for  mean 
ness.  Going  back  to  cooking,  do  you  know  I  can 
make  a  veal  cutlet  look  like  a  turkey. 

MRS.  SHAW.  A  veal  cutlet  look  like  a  turkey! 
Huh,  I  can  do  better  than  that. 

MRS.  SMITH.    What,  I'd  like  to  know. 

MRS.  SHAW.  I  can  make  my  husband  look  like  a 
lobster. 


16         THOSE  HUSBANDS  OF  OITES. 

MRS.  SMITH.  That's  a  pretty  good  trick  to  know. 
How  do  you  do  it? 

MRS.  SHAW.  When  he  conies  prowling  home 
about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  make  him  try  say 
ing  "  Smith's  spirit  flask  split  Phillip's  sixth,  sister's 
squirrel's  skull."  (laughter) 

CHORUS.     Good.     We'll  try  it — etc. 

MRS.  SHAW.  If  he  gets  through  that  safely  have 
him  try,  "  Geraldine,  give  Grimes,  Jim's  gilt  gig 
whip  and  goggles.  He's  going  joy  riding  in  the 
jinrikisha  after  ginseng."  (more  laughter) 

MRS.  SHAW.  If  he  says  that  all  right,  I  let  him 
in.  If  he  can't,  he  has  to  sleep  in  the  auto  house. 

MRS.  WHITE.  I  should  think  he  would  look  like 
a  lobster  after  that.  Do  you  ever  try  having  them 
count  a  dish  full  of  beans  when  they  get  home  late? 
That's  a  pretty  good  test.  My  husband  said  he 
never  believed  there  were  so  many  beans  in  the 
world  until  he  tried  to  count  them  at  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning. 

MRS.  GREEN.  My  husband  was  at  a  smoker  at 
the  club  Saturday  night  and  didn't  get  home  until 
one  o'clock. 

MRS.  JONES.  Is  that  why  he  wasn't  at  church 
Sunday  morning? 

MRS.  GREEN.  No,  he  says  the  ventilation  is  so 
poor  in  church  and  the  atmosphere  gets  so  heavy 
that  he  can't  keep  awake. 

MRS.  SMITH.  Too  bad  about  him!  Presume  you 
couldn't  cut  the  air  with  a  knife  at  his  old  smoker. 
Have  you  ever  heard  about  the  time  Al.  Brett  went 
to  church? 

MRS.  BROWN.    Didn't  know  he  ever  went. 

MRS.  SMITH.  He  did,  once.  When  the  man 
passed  the  contribution  box  he  leaned  over  and,  in  a 
stage  whisper,  said,  "  Excuse  me,  I  can't  vote.  I 
haven't  got  out  my  papers  yet." 

MRS.  BROWN.    Makes  me  think  of  John  Wilbuft 


THOSE  HUSBANDS  OF  OURS.          17 

He's  a  policeman  you  know.    When  they  pass  the 

contribution  box  he  just  shows  his  badge. 

MRS.  SMITH.  Suppose  he  thinks  that  will  pass 
him  through  the  pearly  gates. 

MRS.  SHAW.  Talk  about  waiting  for  women  to 
get  ready !  I  always  have  to  wait  and  wait  for  my 
husband  Sunday  morning  before  he  can  tear  him 
self  away  from  his  old  Sunday  paper. 

MRS.  WHITE.  Same  at  my  house.  He  asked  me 
once  if  I  died  first  if  I'd  wait  for  him  on  the  other 
shore.  I  told  him  if  I  didn't  it  would  be  the  first 
religious  service  I  didn't  wait  for  him. 

MRS.  BROWN.  I  don't  go  to  the  Congregational 
Church  any  more. 

MRS.  SHAW.  What  grudge  have  you  against  the 
Congregational  Church? 

MRS.  BROWN.  A  very  decided  grudge.  It  wag 
in  the  Congregational  Church  I  first  met  my  hus 
band. 

MRS.  WHITE.  I  saw  an  awful  funny  thing  in 
Church  the  other  Sunday. 

MRS.  GREEN.    Tell  us  about  it. 

MRS.  WHITE.  You  know  Mr.  Reynolds  is  very 
deaf  and  always  has  to  carry  a  large  ear-trumpet. 
We  have  a  new  usher,  a  Scotchman,  Mr.  Burns, 
and  he'd  never  seen  an  ear-trumpet  before  so  he 
watched  Mr.  Reynolds  very  closely  and  when  he  saw 
him  start  to  raise  the  trumpet  he  could  stand  it^no 
longer  so  hurried  over  to  him,  shook  a  warning 
finger  emphatically  at  him  and  said,  "  One  toot  and 
you're  oot."  (laughter) 

MRS.  GREEN.  Speaking  of  bodily  afflictions,  Si 
Hastings  must  have  a  lot  of  trouble  with  his  teeth. 

MRS.  JONES.  I  always  thought  he  had  partic 
ularly  good  teeth. 

MRS.  GREEN.  Well,  I  heard  him  telling  some  on« 
that  it  cost  him  thousands  of  dollars  to  get  his  eye 
teeth  cut. 


18          THOSE  HUSBANDS  OF  OUES. 

MRS.  JONES.  Huh,  I  reckon  it  did.  He  and  Abe 
Goddard  are  great  cronies.  I  wonder  if  Abe  drinks 
hard  now. 

MRS.  SMITH.  Don't  know  whether  he  drinks  or 
not,  but  his  nose  is  so  red  it  singes  his  mustache. 

MRS.  BROWN.  What's  the  matter  with  Sam 
Townsend's  finger?  I  saw  he  had  it  all  bandaged 
up. 

MRS.  SHAW.    He  ran  a  splinter  in  it,  I  believe. 

MRS.  BROWN.  Ran  a  splinter  in  it?  Been 
scratching  his  head  ? 

MRS.  JONES.    Wooden,  eh? 

MRS.  WHITE.  I  hear  that  Hiram  Atkins  has 
joined  the  new  Progressive  party — says  it's  as  pure 
as  the  driven  snow. 

MRS.  GREEN.  Huh,  pure  as  the  driven  snow. 
Guess  it's  been  driven  through  some  mud.  Hi 
thinks  he's  a  great  orator. 

MRS.  JONES.  I  heard  him  talk  about  two  hours 
the  other  evening. 

MRS.  SMITH.     What  was  he  talking  about? 

MRS.  JONES.  I  don't  know.  He  didn't  say  and 
it  would  puzzle  a  Dutchman  to  find  out. 

MRS.  SMITH.  Herbert  Harding  is  sticking  to  the 
Republican  party.  I  believe  he's  running  for 
Mayor. 

MRS.  BROWN.  Thought  he  believed  the  office 
should  seek  the  man  and  not  the  man  the  office. 

MRS.  SMITH.  That's  what  he  says  but  he'll  look 
out  to  hang  out  a  lantern  and  ring  a  bell  so  the 
office  will  know  which  way  to  look. 

MRS.  SHAW.  Is  Tom  Sharp  in  favor  of  the 
initiative  and  referendum? 

MRS.  WHITE.  His  wife  says  he  is  and  also  the 
recall  and  local  option  and  anything  else  that  is  an 
excuse  for  going  to  the  polls  and  getting  rid  of  a 
day's  work. 

MRS.  GREEN.  I  asked  my  husband  what  a 
referendum  was. 


THOSE  HUSBANDS  OP  OTTES.  19 

MRS.  JONES.  He's  such  a  politician  I  presume 
he  explained  it  to  you  very  clearly. 

MRS.  GREEN.  No,  he  said  he  didn't  know 
whether  it  was  a  soft  drink  or  part  of  an  aeroplane. 

MRS.  SMITH.  And  still  they  say  women  are  not 
well  enough  informed  to  vote.  Are  you  in  favor 
of  women  voting,  Mrs.  Brown? 

MRS.  BROWN.  No,  I  can't  say  I  am  just  at 
present.  The  men  have  got  things  into  such  a  mess 
that  I  think  they  ought  to  clean  them  up  themselves, 
then  we'll  step  in  and  keep  things  clean. 

MRS.  SHAW.  Their  politics  are  a  good  deal  like 
their  housekeeping.  Pretty  dirty ! 

MRS.  JONES.  Oh,  dear,  this  dreadful  house!  Is 
there  anything  that  a  man  can  do  better  than  any 
one  else? 

MRS.  WHITE.  Lawyer  Briggs  says  there's  one 
thing  he  can  do  better  than  any  other  lawyer. 

MRS.  JONES.    What  is  that? 

MRS.  WHITE.    Says  he  can  read  his  own  writing. 

MRS.  GREEN.  Oh,  I  ought  to  be  at  home  clean 
ing  up  that  dreadful  mess. 

MRS.  SMITH.  So  ought  I  but  I  just  can't  get  up 
my  courage  to  start. 

(Chorus.    Nor  I.    Oh,  dear,  I  suppose  we'll  have 
to — etc.,  etc.) 

MRS.  JONES.  I'll  look  out  and  get  on  my  fighting 
dress  to-night  all  right. 

MRS.  BROWN.    Your  fighting  dress? 

MRS.  JONES.    Yes,  haven't  you  one? 

MRS.  BROWN.  No,  I  don't  believe  so.  What  is  it 
anyway? 

MRS.  JONES.  Why,  it's  a  dress  that  buttons  in  the 
front  so  I  don't  have  to  ask  my  husband  to  button 
it  for  me.  Think  I'll  need  all  the  fighting  clothes 
I  own  to-night. 


20    THOSE  HUSBANDS  OF  OUES. 

MRS.  SHAW.  Does  your  husband  like  these  cling 
ing  gowns  ? 

MRS.  JONES.  Clinging  gowns!  Yes,  he  likes 
them  to  cling  to  me  about  ten  years. 

MRS.  WHITE.  They  say  the  modern  woman 
"  toils  not,  neither  does  she  spin  "  but  I  have  to  toil 
pretty  hard  and  spin  a  good  many  fairy  tales  to  get 
a  new  dress. 

MRS.  GREEN.  Isn't  that  so?  I  need  a  new  hat 
most  awfully. 

MRS.  JONES.  What  kind  are  you  going  to  get? 
Merry  Widow? 

MRS.  GREEN.  No,  "  Miserable  Wife  "  would  be 
more  appropriate. 

MRS.  SMITH.  Talk  about  women  being  partic 
ular  and  hard  to  suit.  Why,  my  husband  is  the 
fussiest  mortal. 

MRS.  BROWN.  I'm  surprised.  He  always  dresses 
so  quietly. 

MRS.  SMITH.  He  does  not.  Dresses  quietly! 
You  just  ought  to  hear  him  when  he  loses  a  collar 
button.  Dresses  quietly! 

MRS.  SHAW.     Henry  Lee  is  a  well  dressed  man. 

MRS.  SMITH.     So  is  a  clothing  store  dummy. 

MRS.  WHITE.  Raymond  Fox  is  the  most  partic 
ular  man  about  his  neckties.  There  are  very  few 
kinds  or  colors  that  he'll  wear  and  they  have  to  be 
just  such  a  length  and  width. 

MRS.  GREEN.  Have  you  ever  heard  Mrs.  Fox 
tell  about  the  time  she  tried  to  pick  out  a  necktie 
for  him? 

(Chorus.    No.    Tell  us — etc.) 

MRS.  GREEN.  The  clerk  showed  her  necktie 
after  necktie,  but  not  one  that  her  husband 
would  wear.  She  kept  telling  the  clerk  each  new 
one  he  showed  her,  "  No,  my  husband  wouldn't  wear 
that.  No,  nor  that,  etc."  At  last,  in  despair,  the 


THOSE  HUSBANDS  OP  OUH3.          91 

clerk  said,  "  Madam  you  don't  want  a  necktie. 

What  you  want  is  a  divorce." 

MRS.  JONES.  Men  make  a  great  deal  of  fun  of 
women's  clothes  but  have  you  ever  stopped  to  think 
how  ridiculous  a  man's  clothes  are.  Beginning  at 
his  head,  look  at  the  thing  he  wears — a  hideous  felt 
thing  so  hard  and  tight  that  it  leaves  a  red  furrow 
on  his  forehead  when  it  is  removed. 

MRS.  SMITH.  Yes,  and  if  it  is  a  sixteenth  of  an 
inch  higher  or  lower  in  the  crown  or  narrower  or 
broader  in  the  brim  than  the  latest  model  in  the 
hatter's  window  it  must  be  instantly  changed  no 
matter  whether  the  style  is  becoming  or  not. 

MRS.  BROWN.  Think  of  the  neck  rigging!  Six 
or  eight  thicknesses  of  cotton  or  linen  with  a  string 
of  colored  silk  around  it,  all  drawn  so  tight  that  the 
windpipe  is  nearly  severed. 

MRS.  SHAW.  Consider  his  shirt !  A  stiff,  board- 
like  article  supposed  to  lie  smooth  and  placid  but 
which  usually  cracks,  breaks,  rumples  and  pushes 
up  under  his  chin  like  a  stone  wall. 

MRS.  WHITE.  And  his  vest!  A  regular  sham! 
Queen  Anne  front  and  Mary  Ann  back !  Front  of 
fich  material,  back  of  flimsy  miserable  cotton  stuff. 

MRS.  GREEN.  Then  his  coat!  A  garment  with 
two  tails  decorated  with  two  buttons  guaranteed 
to  fasten  the  owner  to  any  piece  of  furniture  on 
which  he  happens  to  sit. 

MRS.  JONES.  Below  the  coat  two  cloth  stove 
pipes  for  his  legs.  These  are  suspended  from  his 
shoulders  by  decorated  rubber  straps  that  make  the 
creature  look  like  a  harnessed  mule. 

MRS.  SMITH.  They're  mules  all  right.  The  space 
of  several  inches  which  intervenes  between  the 
trousers  and  shoes  is  covered  with  a  piece  of  colored 
silk  or  cotton  unlike  anything  else  in  the  surround 
ing  landscape.  And  the  shoes!  Mud  scows  with 
turned  up  noses  and  verandas  extending  all  around 
the  front  half  of  the  shoe.  No  more  the  shape  of 


9t          THOSE  HUSBANDS  OF  OUES. 

the  foot  than  the  rest  of  the  clothes  are  the  shape 
of  the  rest  of  the  body. 

MRS.  GREEN.     That  is  the  lord  of  creation. 

MRS.  BROWN.  And  yet  they  make  fun  of  our 
clothes.  "  Oh,  wad  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us. 
To  see  oursels  as  ithers  see  us !  " 

{Knock  at  door.  All  jump.  MRS.  BLACK  rushes 
in,  laughing  very  heartily.  Holds  hands  on 
sides  and  laughs,  sways  back  and  forth,  others 
surround  her  in  astonishment,  asking  questions 
and  taking  hold  of  her. ) 

MRS.  JONES.    What  is  the  matter,  Mrs.  Black? 

MRS.  SMITH.  I  believe  the  sight  of  her  house 
has  driven  her  crazy. 

MRS.  BLACK.   (stUl  laughing)     No— no— no. 

MRS.  BROWN.    What  is  it  then? 

MRS.  BLACK,  (still  laughing)  Oh — oh— oh — you 
never  saw  anything  so  funny  in  all  your  life,  (has 
another  spell  of  laughing) 

MRS.  JONES.  Well,  I  guess  if  you  had  such  a 
looking  house  as  this  you  wouldn't  feel  so  much  like 
laughing. 

MRS.  BLACK.  Your  house  isn't  a  circumstance  to 
mine  but  (laughing  again)  I've  laughed  till  I  ache 
all  over. 

MRS.  WHITE.    Do  hurry  up  and  tell  us  about  it. 

MRS.  BLACK.  You  just  ought  to  see  my  husband 
— worst  looking  object  you  ever  saw  in  all  your 
life,  (has  another  spell  of  laughing) 

MRS.  SHAW.    What  is  the  matter  with  him? 

MRS.  BLACK,  (still  convulsed  with  laughter) 
Oh — oh— oh — he  evidently  wanted  to  look  youngr 
while  I  was  away  and  tried  to  dye  his  hair  and  it 
turned  it  a  brilliant  green  like  a  head  of  celery. 
(laughs  again — others  join  feebly) 

MRS.  BLACK.  He  finally  confessed — said  the  first 
application  turned  it  brindle,  the  second,  yellow,  and 


THOSE  HUSBANDS  OP  OURS.          88 

the  third,  green,  and  he  can't  budge  the  green.  1 
found  him  locked  up  in  the  bedroom  where  h«'« 
spent  most  of  the  time  since  I  left. 

MRS.  GREEN.     It'll  wear  off  in  time,  won't  it? 

MRS.  BLACK.  That's  what  he's  wondering. 
(laughs  heartily  again)  Oh,  it's  too  funny! 

MRS.  JONES.  I  can't  see  how  you  can  laugh  so 
when  we  have  such  houses  to  clear  up. 

(Chorus.    Nor  I.    How  can  you.    I  don't  feel  as 
if  I'd  ever  laugh  again,  etc.) 

MRS.  BLACK.  Come  on  over  all  of  you  and  take 
one  look  at  him.  It'll  serve  him  right  to  be  put  on 
exhibition  and  one  glance  is  warranted  to  cure  the 
worst  attack  of  the  blues. 

MRS.  JONES.  We  surely  need  something  to  make 
us  smile  again  after  this  experience,  but  I  think 
those  husbands  of  ours  should  be  punished  in  some 
way. 

CHORUS.    So  do  I.    And  I,  etc. 

MRS.  SMITH.  What  can  we  do?  (all  think  a 
minute ) 

MRS.  JONES.  I  have  it.  Let's  all  send  for  our 
mothers  to  make  us  a  long  visit. 

CHORUS.    The  very  thing.    Good,  etc. 

MRS.  JOH/-S.  That  will  be  killing  two  birds  with 
One  stone.  They'll  help  us  clean  up  these  awful 
houses  and  make  those  husbands  of  ours  walk  the 
chalk  line  for  awhile. 

MRS.  SHAW.  I'll  go  right  home  and  telephone  so 
mother  will  get  here  before  that  husband  of  mine 
^ets  home. 

CHORUS.    So  will  I.    And  I,  etc. 

MRS.  BLACK.  And  I'll  make  my  husband  sit  at 
the  window  as  you  go  by.  (all  hurry  out) 

CURTAIN. 


AUNT  HETTY  ON  MATRIMONY 

A  YANKEE  RECITATION 

''Now,  girls,"  said  Aunt  Hetty,  "put  dowi: 
your  embroidery  and  worsted  work,  do  some 
thing  sensible,  and  stop  building  air  castles,  and 
talking  of  lovers  and  honeymoons.  It  makes 
me  sick — it's  perfectly  antimonial.  Love  is  a 
farce;  matrimony  is  a  humbug;  husbands  are 
domestic  Napoleons,  Neroes,  Alexanders,  sigh 
ing  for  other  hearts  to  conquer  after  they  are 
sure  of  yours.  The  honeymoon  is  as  short  lived 
as  a  lucifer-match.  After  that  you  may  wear 
your  wedding-dress  at  the  washtub,  and  your 
nightcap  to  meeting,  and  your  husband  won't 
know  it.  You  may  pick  up  our  own  pocket 
handkerchief,  help  yourself  to  a  chair,  and  split 
your  gown  across  the  back  reaching  over  the 
table  to  get  a  piece  of  butter,  while  he  is  laying 
in  his  breakfast  as  if  it  were  the  last  meal  he 
should  eat  in  this  world.  When  he  gets  through 
he  will  aid  your  digestion,  while  you  are  sip 
ping  your  first  cup  of  coffee,  by  inquiring  what 
you'll  have  for  dinner,  whether  the  cold  lamb 
was  all  ate  yesterday,  if  the  charcoal  is  all  out, 
and  what  you  gave  for  the  last  green  tea  you 
bought.  Then  he  gets  up  from  the  table,  lights 
his  cigar  with  the  last  evening's  paper,  that 
you  have  not  had  a  chance  to  read,  gives  two  or 
three  whiffs  of  smoke,  sure  to  give  you  a  head 
ache  for  the  afternoon,  and  just  as  his  coat-tail 
is  vanishing  through  the  door,  apologizes  for 
not  doing  'that  errand'  for  you  yesterday, 
thinks  it  doubtful  if  he  can  to-day,  so  pressed 
with  business.  Hear  of  him  at  eleven  o'clock 
taking  an  ice-cream  with  some  ladies  at  Vin- 
ton's,  while  you  are  putting  new  linings  in  his 
coat  sleeves.  Children  by  the  ears  all  day,  can't 
get  out  to  take  the  air,  feel  as  dizzy  as  a  fly  in  a 
drum.  Husband  comes  home  at  night,  nods  a 
'how  d'ye  do,  Fan,'  boxes  Charley's  ears,  stands 


little  Fanny  in  the  corner,  sits  down  in  the 
easiest  chair  in  the  warmest  corner,  puts  his 
feet  over  the  grate,  shutting  out  all  the  fire, 
while  the  baby's  little  pug  nose  grows  blue  with 
the  cold,  reads  the  newspaper  all  to  himself, 
solaces  his  inner  man  with  a  hot  cup  of  tea, 
and,  just  as  you  are  laboring  under  the  hallu 
cination  that  he  will  ask  you  to  take  a  mouth 
ful  of  fresh  air  with  him,  he  puts  on  his  dress 
ing  gown  and  slippers,  and  begins  to  reckon  up 
the  family  expenses!  After  which  he  lays 
down  on  the  sofa,  and  you  keep  time  with  your 
needle,  while  he  snores  till  nine  o'clock.  Next 
morning  ask  him  to  'leave  you  a  little  money,' 
he  looks  at  you  as  if  to  be  sure  you  are  in  your 
right  mind,  draws  a  sigh  long  enough  and 
strong  enough  to  inflate  a  pair  of  bellows,  and 
asks  you  'what  you  want  with  it,  and  if  half  a 
dollar  won't  do.'  Gracious  king!  as  if  these 
little  shoes  and  stockings  and  petticoats  could 
be  had  for  a  half  a  dollar !  Oh,  girls !  set  your 
affections  on  cats,  poodles,  parrots  or  lap-dogs, 
but  let  matrimony  alone.  It's  the  hardest  way 
on  earth  of  getting  a  living;  you  never  know 
when  your  work  is  done  up.  Think  of  carrying 
eight  or  nine  children  through  the  measles, 
chicken-pox,  rash,  mumps  and  scarlet  fever, 
some  of  'em  twice  over — it  makes  my  head  ache 
to  think  of  it.  Oh,  you  may  scrimp  and  save, 
and  twist  and  turn,  and  dig  and  delve,  and 
economize,  and  die,  and  your  husband  will 
marry  again,  and  take  what  you  have  saved  to 
dress  his  second  wife  with,  and  she'll  take  your 
portrait  for  a  fireboard;  but  what's  the  use  of 
talking?  I'll  warrant  every  one  of  you'll  try  it, 
the  first  chance  you  get — there's  a  sort  of  be 
witchment  about  it,  somehow.  I  wish  one-half 
of  the  world  warn't  fools,  and  t'other  half 
idiots,  I  do.  Oh,  dear!" 


LADIES  ALONE 

Comedy.  I  act.  By  Florence  Ryerson  and  Colin 
Clements.  3  females.  Interior.  Modern  costumes.  25 
minutes. 

Three  modern  girls  who  share  an  apartment  find  them 
selves  "dateless"  on  a  Saturday  night.  They  agree  men  are 
bores,  and  swear  that  they  will  have  one  "Ladies'  Night" 
every  month.  Inside  of  ten  minutes  two  of  the  girls  have 
broken  their  oaths  and  gone  off  with  the  third's  only  party 
dress  and  hat.  When  the  one  and  only  young  man  calls  up 
and  invites  her  to  go  dancing,  Peggy  solves  her  problem  in  a 
novel  manner.  Light,  modern,  and  offers  three  evenly 
balanced  parts. 

(Royalty  $5.00.)  Price,  50  cents. 

DON'T  TELL  A  SOUL 

Comedy,  i  act.  By  James  Reach.  7  females. 
Interior.  Modern  costumes.  25  minutes. 

A  highly  amusing  little  sketch  that  hilariously  points  a  very 
apt  moral.  At  a  dance  in  a  fashionable  hotel  Gloria  exhibits  a 
scar  over  her  eye  to  "one  of  her  dearest  friends,"  explaining 
she'd  got  it  hanging  a  picture.  When  the  "dearest  friend" 
passes  this  tidbit  on,  the  scar  has  become  a  wound  where 
Gloria's  husband  had  struck  her.  From  this  point,  the  story 
gains  embellishment  in  the  manner  of  a  snowball  rolling 
downhill,  until  Gloria's  husband  has  become  a  homicidal 
maniac,  and  many  farcical  complications  has  ensued. 

(Royalty  $5.00.)  Price,  50  cents. 

IN  A  BOOKSHOP 

Comedy.  I  act.  By  Elise  West  Quaife.  5  females. 
Interior.  Modern  costumes.  25  minutes. 

One  Spring  day  Miss  Lydia  had  three  customers,  each  of 
whom  wished  to  buy  a  book  as  a  birthday  gift  for  a  man. 
These  ladies  did  not  know  each  other,  but  Miss  Lydia  knew 
them  all,  and  she  knew  that  it  was  the  same  man  in  each  case. 
As  this  gradually  becomes  apparent,  Miss  Lydia  finds  herself 
an  unwilling  participant  in  a  tense  conflict  which  has  a  sur 
prise  ending.  It  is  particularly  suitable  for  Women's  Clubs, 
Little  Theatres,  and  Colleges  for  Girls. 

(Royalty  $5.00.)  Price,  50  cents. 


SO  WONDERFUL  (IN  WHITE) 

Drama.  I  act.  By  N.  Richard  Nusbaum.  9  females. 
Interior.  Modern  costumes.  25  minutes. 

Margaret  Shipman,  a  nurse  in  training,  has  brought  to  her 
calling  bright  hope  and  idealism.  The  test  of  this  idealism 
comes  when  Shipman  is  confronted  with  the  heartbreaks  of 
her  profession:  The  necessity  to  sacrifice  a  personal  love, 
Charles;  injustice  as  typified  by  the  formalized  rigidity  and 
mercilessness  of  Miss  Cresson,,  her  superintendent ;  hypocrisy 
and  meanness  as  exemplified  by  Eleanor  De  Witt;  and 
tragedy  in  the  suicide  of  Janey  Held,  a  lonely  narcotic  ad 
dict.  In  the  last  moments  of  the  play,  when  cause  has  piled 
upon  effect  and  her  idealism  appears  entirely  in  cloud  and 
shadow,  there  emerges  a  new  clarity,  a  maturer  hope. 

(Royalty  $5.00.)  Price,  50  cents. 

SPY  ME  THIS  ONE 

Comedy.  I  act.  By  John  Kirkpatrick.  7  females. 
Interior.  Modern  costumes.  35  minutes. 

Twice  before,  when  Evalina's  husband  went  away  on  busi 
ness,  Evalina  got  into  trouble.  This  time  that  charming  lady 
takes  up  espionage  work.  With  a  secret  service  agent  hiding 
behind  a  screen  and  the  unfortunate  maid  locked  up  in  a 
clothes-closet,  Evalina  prepares  to  receive  a  dangerous  "spy." 
The  "spy"  no  sooner  arrives  than  in  walks  another,  then  an 
other  and  still  another.  Evalina  puts  in  a  very  busy  evening! 

(Royalty  $5.00.)  Price,  50  cents. 

THE  DEAR,  DEAR  CHILDREN 

Comedy,  i  act.  By  Sophie  Kerr.  8  females.  Interior. 
Modern  costumes.  30  minutes. 

Mrs.  Williard  is  having  her  troubles  with  her  daughter, 
Esther,  who  would  rather  play  tennis  with  her  boy  friend 
than  help  her  mother  get  things  ready  for  the  visit  of  the 
library  committee.  Gradually  the  women  arrive,  each  having 
a  story  to  tell  about  how  her  children  misbehave  so  violently 
that  they  wear  her  out.  But  at  the  height  of  the  discussion  a 
phone  call  is  received,  and  we  discover  that  a  mutual  friend 
of  the  ladies  has  given  birth  to  a  new  baby.  Immediately  all 
the  women  begin  to  plan  ways  of  congratulating  the  young 
mother  on  her  extreme  "good  fortune." 

(Royalty  $5.00.)   Price,  50  cents. 


THEY'RE  NONE  OF  THEM  PERFECT 

Comedy.  I  act.  By  Sophie  Kerr.  6  females,  I  extra. 
Interior.  Modern  costumes.  30  minutes. 

Amanda  Bartlett,  a  successful  young  business  woman,  is 
giving  a  dinner  party  to  five  of  her  married  women  friends 
to  announce  to  them  her  coming  marriage.  One  of  them  asks 
Amanda  why  it  is  she  wants  to  get  married  when  she  can 
make  plenty  of  money  and  has  a  lovely  apartment,  together 
with  servants  and  perfect  freedom,  and  "without  being  both 
ered  by  anyone  else's  ways  or  funny  little  habits"  ?  Immediately 
Amanda  wants  to  know  what  funny  little  habits  her  friend 
is  talking  about  and  one  by  one  each  married  woman  describes 
a  trait  in  her  husband  which  nearly  drives  her  frantic. 

(Royalty  $5.00.)  Price,  50  cents. 

WALLFLOWERS 

Comedy,  i  act.  By  James  Reach.  5  females. 
Interior.  Modern  costumes.  25  minutes. 

Ann  Bowers  is  one  of  that  species  of  hardy  perennials — 
the  "Wallflower."  Shy,  plain,  unsophisticated,  she  doesn't 
"rate"  in  any  of  the  school  activities.  Finally,  spurned  by 
her  roommate,  told  where  to  "get  off,"  she  decides  it's  no 
use,  packs  to  run  home  to  Mother.  At  this  point,  a  visit  is 
made  to  Briarton  by  Katherine  Lansdown,  the  famous  actress 
and  one  of  the  school's  most  distinguished  alumni.  Ann 
discovers  that,  in  her  own  day,  Katherine,  too,  had  been  a 
notorious  "wallflower" ;  discovers  also  that,  after  all,  "wall 
flowers"  do  have  some  use  in  this  world. 

(Royalty  $5.00.)  Price,  50  cents. 

THE  PURPLE  DOORKNOB 

Comedy,  i  act.  By  Walter  Prichard  Eaton.  Simple 
interior  (bedroom).  25  minutes.  Modern  costumes. 

An  unusual  comedy  for  three  women,  in  which  a  charming 
young  actress,  seeking  to  buy  from  a  bed-ridden  old  woman 
one  of  her  antiques,  achieves  her  end  by  giving  the  shut-in 
a  theatrical  performance  in  her  chamber,  and  inducing  the 
old  lady  to  be  one  of  the  characters,  much  to  the  latter's  de 
light.  The  chamber  setting  can  be  very  simple,  but  must 
look  old-fashioned. 

(Royalty  $5.00.)  Price,  50  cents. 


LADY  KILLERS 

Farce.  1  act.  By  John  Kirkpatrick. 

6  females.  Interior.  Modern  costumes.  40  minutes. 

Miriam's  husband  laughed  at  her  when  she  made  a  speech 
at  a  college  reunion.  Edna,  her  spinster  friend,  advocated 
divorce.  Lottie,  who  had  left  her  husband,  said  the  only  effec 
tive  way  to  get  rid  of  a  husband  was  to — well — eliminate  him. 
Edna  arranged  with  Bernice,  who  had  disposed  of  at  least  two, 
to  dispose  of  four  more  husbands — Caroline  and  Jenny  had 
somehow  got  into  it  too.  It  was  a  wonderful  scheme:  The  only 
trouble  with  it  was  it  boomeranged. 

Price,  50  cents.  (Royalty,  $5.00.) 

THE  FIFTH  WHEEL 

Comedy.  1  act.  By  Marjean  Perry. 

5  females.  Interior. 

The  scatterbrained  Mrs.  Hilda  Finch,  during  the  six  months 
she  has  belonged  to  the  Woman's  Club,  has  managed  to  create 
a  lot  of  turmoil  by  an  excess  of  enthusiasm  and  imagination. 
Now  she's  planning  a  membership  campaign  to  make  up  to 
everyone  for  past  mistakes.  The  officers  of  the  Club,  horrified 
by  her  impractical  plan,  try  to  stop  her  before  it's  too  late — 
with  mixed  success. 

Price,  50  cents.  (Royalty,  $5.00.) 


Comedy.  1  act.  By  Martha  Norwood  Gibson. 

8  females.  Interior. 

At  a  meeting  of  the  Center  City  Ladies'  Cultural  League  the 
four  officers'  true  thoughts  reveal  their  inner  selves,  as  they 
clash  in  a  very  ladylike  way.  The  president  is  really  rather 
stingy.  The  treasurer  is  beginning  to  look  seedy.  The  secretary 
hates  to  wear  her  glasses.  The  vice-president  can't  keep  her 
records  straight.  A  typical  club  meeting  with  all  the  undercur 
rents  brought  out  into  the  open  for  the  audience  to  enjoy. 

Price,  50  cents.  (Royalty,  $5.00.) 


POLLY,  PUT  THE  KETTLE  ON 
(AND  WE'LL  ALL  HAVE  TEA!) 

Comedy.  I  act.  By  Peggy  Fernway.  7  females. 
Interior.  Modern  costumes.  35  minutes 

Mrs.  Jason  has  just  engaged  a  new  colored  maid  named 
Polly.  Polly  has  a  most  decided  fear  of  ghosts.  When  mis 
chievous  young  Sylvia  Vail  learns  of  Polly's  nervous  dread 
of  ghosts  she  tiptoes  into  the  Jason  living  room  and  tells 
the  colored  maid  that  it  is  fatal  to  place  the  kettle  on  the 
stove  in  the  Jasons'  house  because  every  time  the  water  starts 
to  boil  at  night  time  the  ghost  of  a  former  owner  of  the  house 
appears !  Polly  promises  never  to  boil  water  in  the  evening 
and  is  stricken  with  fear  when  Mrs.  Jason  commands  her  to 
"put  the  kettle  on  we'll  all  have  tea!" 

(Budget  Play.)   Price,  50  cents. 

IF  WOMEN  WORKED  AS  MEN  DO 

Comedy,  i  act.  By  Ellen  Goodfellow.  4  iemales. 
Interior.  Modern  costumes.  25  minutes. 

Mrs.  Carew  and  Mrs.  Bowling  are  business  partners.  Miss 
Arnold  is  their  stenographer  and  Miss  Smith  is  her  vacation 
substitute.  On  the  particular  morning  which  the  play  por 
trays,  little  real  work  is  done  but  considerable  conversation  is 
indulged  in.  The  skit  is  a  satire  on  the  business  man's  excuse, 
"a  hard  day  at  the  office,"  showing  that  it's  not  always  as 
hard  as  it  might  be,  or  as  their  wives  think  it  is. 

(Budget  Play.)   Price,  50  cents. 


RISING  WITH  GRACE 

Comedy.  I  act.  By  Marguerite  Murray.  5  females. 
Interior.  Modern  costumes.  30  minutes. 

Dealing  with  the  efforts  of  a  newcomer  from  the  city  to 
help  the  small  town  women  to  a  new  and  higher  type  of  life. 
Their  lack  of  culture  and  their  settled  ways  and  manners 
make  her  pity  their  narrow  life.  Her  efforts  to  broaden  their 
outlook  by  giving  a  play  to  raise  money  for  the  church  is 
the  first  step  out  of  the  rut  in  which  she  finds  them. 

(Budget  Play.)   Price,  50  cents. 


HE'S  HAYING  A  BABY 

Comedy.  1  act.  By  Fred  Carmichael. 

5  females.  Interior.  Modern  Costumes. 

Shows  what  would  happen  if  men  and  babies  and  women 
paced  the  floor  of  the  maternity  waiting  room.  As  three  women 
sit  through  their  waiting  time,  many  differences  are  brought 
out  to  show  what  would  happen  if  men  had  babies  and  the  way 
civilization  would  change  from  the  running  of  the  White  House 
down  to  men's  maternity  suits.  How  each  of  the  ladies  take  the 
news  of  their  new  children  and  the  reaction  that  follows  make 
this  an  ideal  show. 

Price,  50  cents.  (Budget-Non  Royalty) 


Comedy.  1  act.  By  Peggy  Fernway. 

8  females.  Interior. 

Bernice,  in  her  late  teens,  is  supposed  to  be  taking  in  a  movie 
with  her  girl  griend,  but  nosey  Minerva,  the  town  gossip, 
spreads  the  word  around  that  Bernice  and  Johnny  have  eloped. 
Of  course,  Minerva  is  all  wrong  and  everything  is  straightened 
out  in  a  surprise  finish. 

Price,  50  cents.  (Budget-Non  Royalty) 


FLAPPER  GIRLS 

Comedy.  1  act.  By  Anita  Mathers. 

8  females.  Costumes  1927. 

The  Flapper  Girls  Society  is  holding  their  annual  dance  and 
they  will  vote  the  girl  who  is  to  be  Miss  Flapper  Girl  of  1927. 
Linda's  flapper  friends  assure  her  of  their  vote.  But  Crystal  has 
ideas  along  the  same  lines.  Crystal  wins.  It  is  at  this  time  that 
Dolly,  Linda's  14-year-old  sister,  decides  to  step  in  and  take  a 
hand  in  the  proceedings  and  she  does  so  with  astonishing  results. 

Price,  50  cents.  (Budget-Non  Royalty) 


